


A Mile A Day

by Project0506



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4237500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel believes babysitting is far easier when all of your charges are in one place.  The Winchester brothers might beg to differ.  Claire wants another blue Icee.</p><p>Snapshots of life on the road with an extra, tiny, passenger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Six

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SniperinaJumper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SniperinaJumper/gifts).



> Playing a bit fast and loose with the timelines for no reason besides general hilarity.

“I gotta go.” There is a swish-swish of light posts zooming by but no reaction to her words. “Mr. Dean?” she tries. The steering wheel creaks where he clutches at it.

 

“I heard you.”

 

He doesn't sound happy. As the one who currently needs to pee, Claire doesn't think that is entirely fair. She huffs. “I gotta go-”

 

“I know you 'gotta go'.” Mr. Dean says, growly like Mrs. Sommers' small doggy gets when he kind of wants you to take the rope-toy but also kind of doesn't and won't let go so you can throw it again. “Just like I knew 20 minutes ago when you absolutely _had_ to have an electric blue Icee the size of your head.” 

 

“You're kind of ornery today,” Claire says, because that's what Mrs. Sommers always says when Samson is growly. “Someone needs a nap.”

 

Mr. Sam coughs. Claire hopes he's not sick. “There's a rest stop in about 18 miles,” Mr. Sam says and Claire already  _knew_ that; she  _can_ read. “It's not that far. Think you can hold it?” 

 

No. No she cannot. But she'd feel super double bad for saying so. If Mr. Dean is like Samson, Mr. Sam is like Mrs. Sommers' big doggy Sonny: huge and fluffy and not very smart but always wiggling and happy and with a giant dopey face that makes you feel like the greenest booger  _ever_ if you don't give him one of your chicken nuggets. Mr. Sam looks like he'd be super good at the 'gimme a nugget else you're a booger' face. “I guess,” she says doubtfully. Mr. Sam must think she means she's sure, and he smiles. Claire smiles back. None of this does anything to help her problem.

 

But Claire's her daddy's girl and maybe he's busy being an angel right now, but he wasn't always and he maybe taught her a thing or two. Claire waits for the next green sign that said 'GAS' and 'FOOD'. “Mr. Sam?” she says and when he turns she gives him her best smile. “I don't gotta go anymore.”

 

Mr. Dean says something really, really bad and jerks towards the exit.

 


	2. Eight

“Hello Samuel.”

 

Self-preservation is something you learn right quick in the life they lead and the long-honed instincts have Sam backpedalling through the motel door. Claire sounds like Dr. Evil and that can never, ever mean anything good. Pity Dean didn't get the message.

 

“Hey brat,” he says, breezing into the room like he hadn't just cut off Sam's escape, like he doesn't _even now_ have a vice-like grip on Sam's upper arm. The asshole is grinning. Sam really, really wants to punch him.

 

“Hi Dean,” Claire giggles, as if she hasn't arranged all the furniture in the room into a semi-circle and strung a banner boldly declaring 'Intervention!' across the kitchenette. “Samuel. Please have a seat.”

 

The door behind Sam locks with an ominous _thunk_ that Sam knows from experience will be completely immune to any and all of his tricks. Gabriel always did like Claire best. He's also very likely responsible for the fact that Claire's tutu is a painful orange today. Sam sure as hell didn't buy that one. “Hey,” Sam says cautiously. There is a podium. And a spotlight. Claire has flashcards.

 

“I hope you know that we are all friends here and we are all concerned about you.” She looks at him expectantly.

 

“Uh. Yeah?”

 

Right answer, apparently. “So as your friends and family, we need to talk about your hair.”

 

Did Sam already mention the flashcards? There are flashcards. Gabriel reads 'A hairstyle should be an informed choice and not an accident of nature' from his. Castiel's mentions how he's presenting himself as uncouth in public. Dean blames his hair for his lack of girlfriends. “You're hurting yourself and it's hurting us to watch,” Claire eventually concludes after far too long.

 

“...sure.” Sam eventually answers when it seems no one else is willing to break the silence that follows. “I'll just... get a haircut?”

 

Claire grins, huge and joyous and terrifying. “That's okay!” she chirps. “I've got plans!”

 

Sam spends the day in pigtails. The glitter is a bitch and a half to wash out.

 

(His hair has never been softer.)


	3. Twelve

Dean's at the part where he hands out his latest (fake) business card with instructions to 'call if you remember _anything_ else', when the front passenger door quietly clicks open. There is a subdued sort of shuffling, the door clicks just-as-quietly closed and a pair of bright pink sneakers attached to preteen feet peek out past the back tires.

 

“Um,” says latest-weird-thing-witness Amy. Dean understands; his brain is also saying 'um'.

 

“Claire why are you lying on the sidewalk?”

 

“Because everything is bullshit and this is my life now.”

 

“Language,” Dean says, and is impressed by Claire's ability to not move a muscle and still manage to radiate disapproval at his hypocrisy. She must have learned that straight from Cas. Before this all dissolves into the age-old 'in 20 years you can use as many bullshits as you want but until then you watch your effing mouth' arguments, Sam leans out the back window. He's grinning.

 

“Tumblr says Zayn quit 1D,” he says and tries not to laugh.

 

“Is that English?” Dean asks and scratches his cheek.

 

“!!!!!!” Claire wails and garbles something that sounds exactly like a keyboard mashing looks.

 

Witness-Amy starts wearing the same grin Sam does, so as far as Dean can figure this is one of those things that is absolutely devastating, but only if you're almost thirteen. And a girl. Probably. Dean stoops and pats awkwardly at her ankle. “Is this a Cheesecake Day?”

 

Claire sniffs. “This is a _Whole_ Cheesecake Day,” she confirms and Dean winces. The last Whole Cheesecake Day was when Cas made the very wrong assumption that looking for God somewhere without cell towers was more important than Claire's eleventh birthday.

 

He waves an apology to Witness-Amy, who gives him that understanding look shared by every woman who thinks Claire's his kid. Later he'll call her again and, like as not, she'll be far more helpful than she was today.

 

But right now he's gonna go sit on the sidewalk until his ass falls asleep, then he's gonna haul the not-his-kid over his shoulder. They're gonna go two blocks to the Publix, buy a cheesecake, grab two spoons from the deli and eat the whole thing in the parking lot. After that, it's movies and ice cream and hot cocoa and marshmallows and when Claire wakes up from her sugar coma it'll be a brand new week. Stuff won't look as bad then.

 

Works every time.


End file.
